Running the Gauntlet
by Broadwaylover5300
Summary: Liesl learns what love's really like after an American soldier takes refuge in the Von Trapps' home.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, guys, just so you know, I am going to be finishing Manhunt too, but the way my mind works, once I start working on something, I get an idea for something else, so here's that something else!  
The lyrics that start each chapter (which will probably be short) are not owned by me; they are owned by Burt Bacharach and Hal David. They actually came out in the 1960s, but I think that they illustrate the mood of each chapter well. I also don't own **_**The Sound of Music.**_** I only own the DVD.

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_Make believe__  
__that you don't see the tears__  
__Just let me grieve__  
__in private 'cause each time I see you__  
__I break down and cry_

_Walk on by, walk on by__  
_

_-_"Walk On By," Dionne Warwick

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Liesl watched as Rolfe walked away, her vision blurred a bit by the tears welling in her eyes. She scowled and mentally scolded herself for letting herself cry in public. She was supposed to be the tough one in the family, the caregiver, and she felt she couldn't do all those things that had fallen on her shoulders if she got all swallowed up in emotion. She looked down at the cobblestones as she swallowed and tried to regain her composure, and then turned and walked back towards the car.

Gretl, in her own special inquisitive way, asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Liesl said, with a smile on her face that she hoped looked real. She marveled at Gretl's immediate ability to see that something had gone wrong. It seemed like a gift that all young children seemed to have, yet it caused Liesl to be amazed, regardless. If anybody was going to find out, she would have expected it to be Brigitta; she had a romantic sensibility that seemed to make her more receptive to matters of the heart.

As if reading Liesl's mind, Brigitta said, "Yes, there is. What is it?"

"Ummm…" Liesl said, mentally scrambling for an answer. "I was thinking about… I lost my favorite ring somewhere. I was just thinking about where it could be."

Brigitta gave Liesl a look that told Liesl that she had better quit now, before she dug herself even deeper into a pit. Uncle Max was just as oblivious as Liesl had expected him to be, just laughing and shaking his head about something. Uncle Max never seemed to care about much of anything; he seemed to wander through life in a fog. Liesl thought about how nice it might be to go through life in such a way.

xxx

Liesl needed to go somewhere to think; so much had happened today. Her nerves couldn't take too much of the kind of drama that she had been going through today. It was funny how fleeting happiness was; all that she had had from singing in the festival was gone now, but the sadness she had felt was still there, driving her into exhaustion.

Brigitta sat on the bed on the other side of the room, her nose in a book, as usual. Liesl smiled; that was one thing she loved about Brigitta. It didn't matter what kind of a book it was, if Brigitta could get her hands on it, it was legitimate reading material. As a result, Brigitta's reading ranged from such diverse authors as L. Frank Baum and Lewis Carroll to Jack London and Dashiell Hammett.

Liesl suddenly noticed that Brigitta was staring at her, with a questioning smile on her face. Liesl smiled back. "What are you reading?" she asked.

Brigitta showed her the cover. "It's called _Washington Square_," she said. "It's about a heiress who falls in love with a beautiful, charming young man."

"Is it a happy story?" Liesl asked brightly.

"Well… not so far," Brigitta said. "It turns out that he didn't love her, he just wanted her money. He's just abandoned her because her father's threatened to disinherit her."

Liesl's smile faded. "Oh," she said, trying to continue to sound happy. She rolled over on her bed, facing the wall, and began to sob softly. Did anybody really love anybody?


	2. Chapter 2

**So…I usually don't post chapters so close to each other, but I wanted to this time! **

**Please, please, please review… reviews make me happy, good or bad! They're what spur me to keep writing.**

**Oh, and the lyrics may sound bleak, but that's why I added the last batch of lyrics, because they add a glimmer of hope, which is what I wanted this chapter to have.**

**Oh, and one more thing (I promise): a lot of this chapter is built around a scene in the movie, but the dialogue is heavily rewritten to fit the story. Sorry, all.**

**These chapters will get longer, too, I promise!**

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_What do you get when you fall in love?__  
__A guy with a pin to burst your bubble__  
__That's what you get for all your trouble__  
__I'll never fall in love again__  
__I'll never fall in love again_

_What do you get when you fall in love?__  
__You only get lies and pain and sorrow__  
__So for at least until tomorrow__  
__I'll never fall in love again_

-"I'll Never Fall in Love Again," Dionne Warwick

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Liesl wandered listlessly into the sitting room off to the side of the entry. In a sort of heartbroken fog that made her unaware of all that was going on around her, she wandered over to a couch and fell into it, rather than sitting down nicely, the way Father had always told her to. She stared out the window at the thick foliage of the trees and hedges, at the sunshine breaking through in between the branches and casting odd shadows on the ground.

Liesl scowled. What right did the day have looking so nice when she felt so sad inside? Of course, this would be perfect for the festival tonight, but that festival was the last thing she wanted to think about right now. She just wanted to be alone with her sorrowful fantasies.

"Liesl?" the voice jolted Liesl from her dream world of depression. She turned around to see Frau… she meant, her new mother standing in the doorway. In spite of herself, Liesl smiled. There was just something about Maria, the warmth and cheerfulness she always seemed to have, that made it radiate off of her. It was very contagious, and even after just a few minutes, one always felt good when one was around her.

"Can I sit down?" Maria asked.

Liesl nodded, still smiling. Maria did so.

"Is there something wrong?" Maria asked. Liesl was amazed at Maria's… Mother's… ability to cut right to the core of the matter. Liesl knew that this seemed to be an ability that all mothers seemed to have, but she had assumed that it would take at least a little bit of time to sharpen and refine.

"Well… not really," Liesl said, not sure if she wanted to address the subject head-on yet.

"Oh, okay," Maria smiled, but she continued sitting there, as if waiting to see if Liesl would change her mind.

Liesl thought for a few seconds, trying to form some words properly in her mind. When she was confident she had them right, she began.

"Maria… I mean, mother?" Liesl asked. Maria smiled. Liesl smiled back. "That's nice," she said. "I like calling you mother."

"I like hearing it," Maria replied.

"You love Father very much, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well… did you know that you loved him right away, or did it take time?" Liesl asked.

A thoughtful look came over Maria's face. "Well, I suppose it did take a little bit of time," she said.

"Then how did you know that you loved him?" Liesl asked.

"Well, it's kind of a hard feeling to describe. I guess I like to look at it as how it makes me want to change."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Maria thought for a second, then continued, "When you love somebody, it makes you want to be more than you are. It's when you want to give the other person all the best that you can give, but you want that best to be the best the world can give, too. So, because of that, you want to improve yourself, not only so you can give the best to that person you love, but so you can be the best for that person."

Liesl smiled. "I like that," she said. "It sounds so romantic."

Maria smiled in response.

Liesl's face suddenly clouded. "But then, why does love hurt so much?"

Maria's face put on a motherly, caring look. "Well," she said, "when you're putting that much effort to be the best for a person, it hurts very much when that person doesn't return the favor, I suppose. Does that make sense?"

Liesl nodded. "So, then, what's the point of trying? It'll probably end in just getting the heart broken again."

Maria responded by singing a beautiful song, a song that managed to answer everything for Liesl. The song lifted Liesl so much that she began to sing along. She floated away on the notes of the song, out of the doldrums she had dropped herself into and into the bright sunshine again.

After the song, Maria smiled and asked, "Do you understand why it's so important to not give up on love?"

"I think so," Liesl replied.

Maria's eyes sparkled. "Love is really what makes life worth living. Even though it can hurt, hurt can help you to grow. Don't give up or get cynical for the hurting. Be a sweeter person for your sweetheart. Be better for the hurt."

Suddenly, Father appeared in the doorway, holding the telegram. He called for Maria…Mother. Liesl got up and gave Mother a hug. She left the room, so blissful she failed to notice the worried look on Father's face.

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**As I said at the top, please review! Reviews, good or bad, make me happy! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, all! Just a few things before we get started:**

**This chapter starts about four years after the last chapter ends. I couldn't think of a good way to write this in. I wanted it to be starting a "year or two" after the last chapter (as a joke; since we're all SOM fans here, you probably understand), but I couldn't historically.**

**Second, I promise you that the first segment of this chapter has to do with the story. Don't give up hope!**

Bill Sefton gunned the motor of his motorcycle, only vaguely looking at the Austrian countryside as it zoomed by. He knew it was a shame, for the country was world-renowned for its beauty. Then again, though, he had already been in several other countries, and sadly, he had seen them in much the same way, so, while it was a shame, it wasn't like it was anything new. Besides, getting to the Swiss border was the only thing that mattered now.

He knew that the rest of the men he had broken out of the prisoner-of-war camp with were dead. There was no way they couldn't be, after that ambush a mile out of camp. The only reason he had gotten away was because he was expert at holding his breath for long periods of time. This made it ten times more dangerous for him, though, because now all the German forces from the camp would be on his trail and his trail alone. If it weren't for the appointed safe houses, friendly families who had provided their homes as hiding places for escaped POWs as they made their way to places where they could make their way home. Home… Sefton's mouth watered just thinking about it. The lights on Broadway, a delicious New York strip-steak, a nice warm bed with feather pillows, just everything the old US of A had to offer.

Sefton pulled the piece of paper the last safe house had given him and unfolded it for the first time. He read the name of the next safe house to report to. Von Trapp? He had heard of him somewhere; it seemed like he had had something to do with naval warfare or something. Sefton checked where exactly the house was, and then pulled out a map he had lifted from one of the German officers and checked it. It wasn't too far from the border. If all went well, he should even be able to get there by dark. Of course, the chances of all going well weren't as high as he would like.

As if on cue, he heard an ominous roaring coming from behind him. He turned around to see a column of gray and tan and dark green coming up the road behind him. He quickly roared his motorcycle into life and sped down the road.

As he crested over one hill, he sighed with relief at the sight of strands of barbed wire strung over land obstacles. The border. Now, all he had to find was a way to cross it.

The roar of the motorcycles of the column behind him grew ever louder and closer.

Sefton quickly scanned the area around the border, looking for something to help him clear the barrier. His eye rested upon a grassy rise about two feet away from the barrier. If he could get enough momentum coming off that rise, he could easily jump the barrier and he would be practically home free.

He sped off the road and started throwing mud and grass into the sky as he made his way toward the rise. He sped off of it and made his way over the barrier. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten enough momentum to clear the barrier entirely. The back tire of the motorcycle caught in the barbed wire and was shredded. The motorcycle flipped, sending Sefton sprawling into the barbed wire. He screamed in pain as the barbs ripped and tore at his flesh. Blood flowed freely at his wounds as he dug his way through the jungle of wire. At every move, more wounds were ripped into his skin. Finally making it out of the wire, he got up and started running as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast, considering the circumstances.

He could hear gunfire rattling off from the other side of the barrier, and he shrieked as he felt a line of hot lead sink into his leg. He instinctively dropped to one knee for a moment, but shot back up again and began limping toward the woods that could provide good cover for him, looming up in front of him. He plunged into the trees, running as far as his energy would allow him. He finally dropped down next to a large tree.

He took a large drink from his canteen and wiped his mouth. He brought his hand away from his mouth and gagged at the mix of blood, sweat, and water in his hand. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away as much blood as he could from his mouth. He removed his ragged shirt and wiped away the blood there. He then rolled up his wounded pant leg and cringed at the sight of the bullet holes running up his leg, and it didn't get any better as he cleaned the blood away. He hoped that somebody at his next safe house wasn't squeamish; the wounds needed to be taken care of right away.

He checked the map again. According to the map, he could make the safe house right around sunset. In fact, it was just on the other side of the woods…

xxx

Liesl, Kurt, Friedrich, Brigitta, and Louisa came through the door, just beating the setting sun. They had just gone on their weekly trip to the movies. Father and Mother typically didn't let them go very many places by themselves, seeing as how they didn't live too far from the border, but they knew that their children needed a chance to be children, a chance to get away from all the worries that seemed to be plaguing the whole world as the time, so they had granted the request for this weekly excursion to the movie house.

They each took turns picking the movie they would see each week. The last time it had been Liesl's turn, they had gone to see _Casablanca_. She had immediately fallen in love with the story of the star-crossed lovers troubled by living in a Nazi-occupied area, with a love triangle thrown in for good measure. However, this week, it had been Kurt's turn, and in keeping with Kurt's usual tastes, they had gone to see the thriller _This Gun for Hire_. Those kinds of movies had never been Liesl's cup of tea, but she went to the movies anyway, because seeing one of those kinds of movies was better than not going to the movies at all.

Liesl hurried up the stairs, eager to get to her book. She had been reading _Wuthering Heights_ for a week now, and she had been completely swept up in the story. She had pretty much given up on finding any kind of romantic love in her life, but she still knew that it was a wonderful thing to have in one's life, and if reading about Heathcliff and Catherine's love affair was the closest she was ever going to get to such a thing, well, it was better than nothing.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door. Letting her natural curiosity get the better of her, Liesl made her way to the banister in what she hoped was a discreet manner and watched as Father made his way to the door and opened it.

"Are you Mr. Sefton?" Father asked in a way that told Liesl who this was immediately. This was one of the men they had been hiding for about six months now. They were very interesting, but unfortunately, not the most couth. She was about to turn away when Father let the man in.

Liesl's breath caught in her throat. What felt like an electric surge made its way up her spine, leaving her with a warm, euphoric feeling. A beatific smile spread across her face as she stared at this bronzed, blonde-haired man.

As if he knew she was there, he turned and stared at her with his dark eyes. Their gazes seemed to meet in the center of the room and just lock there, staying there for all eternity.

Liesl wasn't sure what she was feeling, but she could make a good guess.

**As I said earlier, please review! I don't care if it's long or short, good or bad!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: It's been a long, long time since I updated this story; in fact, it's been several years. I recently saw The Sound of Music again and had my love for it rekindled, and that, in turn, inspired me to go back and complete this story. Hopefully this chapter and others to come are worth the wait!**

**By the way, I own neither The Sound Of Music nor any of its characters.**

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"I really appreciate you patching me up, Mrs. Von Trapp," Bill said as Maria took a roll of gauze from the table that sat next to the bed he lay on.

"When your home serves as a safe house, you expect things like this," Maria said, unrolling the gauze around Bill's freshly-cleaned bullet wounds. "We've seen far worse than this. And please call me Maria."

"So I'm going to live?"

"You're going to be okay," Maria replied. "Your leg will be sore for a little while, but that'll go away."  
"Thank heavens for that," Bill said. His eyes traveled to the blood-filled pan beneath his leg, and from there to the blood-stained plate that had sat next to the gauze. A crimson-soaked pair of tweezers lay on the plate, next to several equally red bullets. A bowl of pink-tinted water sat next to the plate. A glass bottle of rubbing alcohol and a blood-stained rag completed the medical set.

"Where'd you learn to do all that?" Bill asked.

"I learned it in the Imperial Navy," Georg said as he entered the room. "When you're in the middle of the ocean and thousands of miles from any real doctor, you pick up these things."

"But you were the captain," Bill said. "Did you have to do this kind of stuff a lot?"

"More often than you'd think," Georg replied. "We had medical officers, of course, but most of them were young men with only a couple of months' worth of training. It's hardly enough for you to want to put your life in their hands. I'm sure it's the same way in the American military."  
"Yes, sir," Bill said. "We even have a name for soldiers like that. We call 'em 'ninety-day wonders.'"

"Then you do know what it's like," Georg said.  
"Yes, sir," Bill said. He turned his attention to Maria. "You learned very well, ma'am."

"Thank you," Maria said. "And, again, please call me Maria."

xxx

Liesl sat in a chair in the hallway, close enough so she could hear the conversation coming from the room where Bill lay, but what she hoped was far enough away from the door that it wouldn't arouse suspicion among her siblings or her parents. It wasn't that she was afraid of what her parents might think; in fact, Liesl had a feeling that her parents wouldn't mind her falling for an American at all. She still wasn't willing to reveal her feelings yet, though, especially at this point, where she was unsure of exactly what she was feeling.

Liesl listened closely as Bill detailed his POW-camp ordeal to her mother and father. She hung on Bill's every word as he told the story of how he and a group of British & American soldiers had tunneled under the barbed-wire fence that encircled their camp and made their way to the Swiss border. Tears filled her eyes as Bill talked about the German ambush that had killed the rest of his party and how he had narrowly escaped. Liesl felt a lump grow in her throat as Bill described his family, a coal miner's family in the Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania, and how much he loved them. Liesl smiled as Bill, for what seemed like the tenth time, thanked her parents for taking him in.

Liesl began to tune out the talk coming from the room and started thinking about what she had heard. She hardly knew Bill Sefton, of course, but he already seemed different from the other soldiers who had taken refuge in their home. Liesl supposed it was because Mother and Father were taking longer to talk to Bill than they ever had with any other soldier. Perhaps that was because he seemed to have more manners than any other American soldier that had darkened their doorway. Then again, Liesl had never really paid attention to the way Mother and Father had talked to the other soldiers, so she wasn't an authority on the matter. All Liesl knew for sure was that she was a lot more interested in Sefton than she had ever been in the other runaway soldiers.

"Liesl?" Brigitta's voice jolted Liesl out of her thoughts.

Liesl turned to Brigitta. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

"You've been staring at the wall for a half-hour."  
"I'm okay. I'm just thinking."

"What about?" Brigitta asked.

"Nothing important." Liesl felt her cheeks getting warm and knew she was starting to blush. She silently cursed herself. She also prayed that Brigitta wouldn't notice.

Brigitta noticed. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Ah," she said. "I see now."

Liesl looked at her feet.  
"It's all right," Brigitta said. "He's a handsome man."

"Could you be a little quieter?"

"It's all right. Everybody else is outside and Mother and Father are in there." Brigitta pointed at Bill's room. "And I won't make fun of you."

Liesl relaxed. If any of her siblings had had to catch her in her infatuation or whatever this was, she was glad it had been Brigitta. Brigitta was more sensitive to matters of the heart than her other siblings. Liesl supposed it was because of Brigitta's constant reading; every once in a while, Brigitta would quote some line from some book that would be so profound that it would surprise everyone who heard into silence and, usually, some reflection. Liesl had always admired this. In fact, it was that admiration that had gotten Liesl into reading, herself; it was her way of trying to capture at least some of that wisdom that seemed to come to Brigitta so easily.

"You have to promise you won't tell anyone," Liesl said.

"You can trust me. I know how you feel."

"You do?"

"Yes. Remember Pvt. Saunders?"

Liesl began to laugh. "You mean the soldier with the scruffy beard and that stiff cowlick?"

Brigitta blushed. "His beard wasn't _that_ scruffy."

Liesl cut off her laughter. "I'm sorry. That was rude. I just wasn't expecting that."

"That's okay. Anyway, I really liked him, and I was really shy about it. Sort of like you."

Liesl shrugged. "I guess so."

Brigitta smiled. "Well, I'll leave you to your thoughts. Just know that-"

Brigitta stopped talking as Georg entered the hallway. Liesl and Brigitta flashed smiles that they hoped looked innocent enough to keep suspicion from forming in their father. Georg smiled back as he walked past them. The two sisters remained silent for a couple more seconds as they waited for Maria to emerge from the room. Maria eventually did.

"Why aren't you two outside?" Maria asked.

"We're just talking," Brigitta said.

"Anything wrong?" Maria said.

"Nothing," Liesl said, a little too quickly. Brigitta gave Liesl a look.

"We're just chatting," Brigitta said.

"Oh. All right," Maria said. She smiled and continued down the hall.

"That was smooth," Brigitta said, smiling at Liesl.

"I'm sorry. I'm still a little nervous."

"It's all right. Remember Pvt. Saunders? I understand."

"I know you do."

"Anyway, like I was saying, anytime you need to talk, I'd here."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Brigitta winked and walked off. Liesl sank into her chair and allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts again.

xxx

Georg rarely blew his whistle anymore; Maria had helped him to realize what an atrocity it was to whistle for one's children like they were dogs. One of the few exceptions he made, however, was when he called the family for dinner; no matter how much he didn't like using the whistle, his rule about not shouting in the house was still held in force, and shouting his children to dinner was just too sickening a thought for Georg to comprehend. It was for this reason that Maria allowed him to use the whistle just during this one daily occasion. Georg took a deep breath as he raised the silver whistle to his lips. He placed the metal in his mouth and blew the dinner signal: two long blasts, one short.

Georg watched as his children barreled down the stairs and clamored around the table. It took a few seconds for the scene to take on some order, but eventually the children settled in their seats. Georg took his spot at the head of the table and surveyed the scene: a platter piled with sizzling bratwurst; a bowl full of hot mustard, white asparagus with steam still rising off of it, and a bowl full of potato noodles.

Maria entered the dining room and took her place at the other end of the table. Only one chair, the one between Friedrich and Kurt, remained empty. This was the spot the current refugee soldier took. Georg listened, cocking an ear toward the stairway. Eventually, he could hear careful footsteps descending the stairs.

"Should we pray now, darling?" Georg asked Maria. Maria nodded. The family bowed their heads and thanked the Lord for their blessings, particularly the food that sat before them.

As soon as the prayer was over, Gretl and Marta extended their plates to Georg. He indicated that they should put them down. They did so.

"We'll wait for our guest," Maria said. Georg nodded.

A few seconds later, Bill Sefton entered the room. He smiled apologetically at Georg, and then at Maria.

"Sorry I'm late," he said as he limped to the empty chair.

"You're excused," Georg replied.

"We understand wounds in this house," Maria said. "We know that an injury like yours will slow you down."

Georg didn't hear Maria's statement; he was too busy watching his oldest daughter. Had it been his imagination, or had Liesl perked up when Sefton had entered the room? Had her eyes locked on Sefton as soon as she could see him? It was probably nothing; being a sea captain had trained him to pay attention to tiny details, for the most important aspects of how a voyage would pan out might have laid in such details. However, if Maria had taught him anything, it was that one couldn't live life at home the same way that one lived at sea, even if one's family was sheltering runaway POWs from Nazis. Keeping this in mind, Georg forced his observations out of his mind; they were probably nothing, after all, and if they were anything, stronger signs would come later on. They always did.

"Ooh, bratwurst," Sefton said as he sat. "I love it."

"I'm glad to hear that," Maria said.

"It's one of her specialties," Kurt said.

"That's good to hear," Sefton said. "That means it'll be amazing."

"Everything Mother makes is amazing," Marta said.

"I'm sure it is," Sefton said.

Georg looked at Sefton. What had he seen there? Had he fixed his eyes on Liesl for a second there? Had he given her a little smile? What was going on here? _Was_ there something going on here?  
Georg gave his head a little shake, trying to clear his mind of the theories that were accumulating. After all, as important as tiny details were, they added up to nothing just as often as they proved to be vital. After all, in this case, he couldn't be certain that he had seen anything.

"I noticed the guitar in the living room on the way in here," Sefton was saying. "Who plays it?"

Liesl's face brightened. "I do," she said with a smile.

"I do, also," Georg said.

"Wow. And you were telling me that your family sings, right?" Sefton asked Maria.

"That's right," Maria replied.

"Do you know the music festival they have in Salzburg every year?" Friedrich asked.

"Or used to?" Kurt said.

"I think I've heard about it," Sefton said.

"We sang at it a few years ago," Kurt said.

"We won first place," Louisa added, straightening herself in her chair as she spoke.

"That's amazing," Sefton said. "I'd like to see the award sometime."

"We…" Maria paused, looking for the right words. "We didn't get a chance to collect the prize."

"Oh," Sefton said. "That's too bad." After a pause, he continued. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask whoever the guitar belonged to if I could borrow it after dinner. I play a little and I haven't gotten a chance to play in a while."

"That would be fine," Georg said.

"Thank you, sir," Sefton replied.

"Oh, do you play the guitar?" Liesl asked. Georg watched Liesl closely as she spoke, looking for any change in facial expression or tone of voice. Other than her voice being a tad brighter-sounding than usual, he couldn't detect anything.

"A little bit. I'm not that great at it, though," Sefton said.

With that, he two launched into a conversation about guitar playing, while the rest of the children descended into the noise that accompanied every Von Trapp dinner.

Georg tried to put his suspicions out of his mind and enjoy his meal, but he found it impossible. Eventually, he gave up on trying to control his ideas and started to just let them percolate.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. & Mrs. Von Trapp had told Bill that their Switzerland home was much smaller than their house they had abandoned in Austria, but their Swiss house still seemed large to Bill. He stepped out into the house's backyard, clutching the Captain's guitar by its neck. He breathed in the night air and turned around to look at the two-story brick house. He smiled as he mentally compared the house to the little wood-and-clapboard house that he had grown up in, or, more recently, the vermin-ridden barracks he and his fellow POWs had bunked in at Stalag Luft XII. Either way, the Von Trapp residence was a vast improvement. He tried to picture what the Von Trapps' Austrian home must have been like and found that he couldn't picture a house as large as that home had to be.

Bill turned around and surveyed the house's large yard. His eyes rested on a stone bench, dimly lit by a single lamppost and sitting in the shade of a large tree. He limped to the bench and sat down. He held the guitar in a playing position and put his fingers to the frets.

Bill was about to start playing when the image of the Von Trapps' oldest daughter came to the front of his mind. He took his left hand away from the strings and rested it on his knee. He stared into the night and let his mind wander.

Bill had heard stories about soldiers falling in love with local girls, but he had never seen such a story unfold. In fact, most of the stories of that type that he had heard fell into the "friend of a friend" category, and since those stories rarely turned out to be true, Bill had assumed that falling in love with a local was something that didn't happen. That attitude had disappeared the moment he had first seen Liesl Von Trapp.

Looking back, he figured that it had been Liesl's hair that had caught his attention first. He had always liked brunettes, and Liesl's well-kept brown hair had grabbed his eye immediately. Her clear eyes, soft features, and her quietly elegant way of dressing only added to her physical appeal.

Talking with Liesl over the bratwurst and mustard had only made her more attractive to Bill. He had found Liesl easy to talk to; she seemed to be genuinely interested in what he had to say. He had found her fascinating, as well; she had talked about how she had learned to sing from Maria and she had told him what her favorite songs were. Although Bill had never heard most of Liesl's favorite songs, he found himself wanting to listen to the tunes just because she liked them. Bill was sure that he Liesl had talked about more than just music, but he couldn't remember much about what they had discussed; he just remembered that he had enjoyed talking with her. Her eyes dominated most of his thoughts, anyway; he had found them so easy to get lost in.

Bill looked at his wristwatch and realized that he had spent ten minutes doing nothing but gazing off into space and daydreaming. He put his fingers back to the frets and began strumming randomly, trying to decide what song to sing. Eventually, Bill chose a tune he had learned during his first weeks in the Army. Bill began to strum a bluesy melody, cleared his throat, and began to sing.

"_I went down to town Monday,_

_Found me a big double bed._

_I'll find a job tomorrow;_

_Tonight I'll sleep like I'm dead_

_And get up when I choose…_

_Re-enlistment blues."_

Bill smiled as he played the bridge to the next verse. "Re-Enlistment Blues" always brought Bill fond memories of the friends Bill had made during his early Army days. Most of them were dead now, but the memories lived on.

Bill continued with the song.  
"_I hit the bars Wednesday,_

_ Made me some friends on my own._

_ Found a pretty baby;_

_ She wouldn't leave me alone-"_

"You have a good voice," Liesl said, unseen by Bill, from somewhere beyond the lamppost.

Bill felt his cheeks go hot. He was grateful that it was night; although he was sitting under a lamp, he hoped that his blushing wouldn't be noticeable in the dim light. He stopped playing and set the guitar down at his side.

"It's not that great," Bill said as he watched Liesl step into the lamplight. She smiled; he became entranced by the way the lamplight gleamed in her eyes.

"You're just being modest. You really do have a strong singing voice."

"Well, I'm sure it's not as good as yours. I mean, I'm not classically trained or anything."

"Neither am I," Liesl said. She pointed at an empty space on the bench. "May I sit down?"

Bill tried to look nonchalant, but he sensed that he was fighting a losing battle; he was bursting with excitement over the idea of Liesl joining him.

"Go ahead," Bill said. Liesl sat.

After a moment, Liesl spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"I've been curious about this for a while, but I've never asked any of you soldiers about this before."

"Well, I'm here. Go ahead and ask."

"Well…why do you bother escaping?"

"What?"

"Well, you soldiers who are captured are guaranteed a bed and meals for the rest of the war. It seems like it would be easier to just stay in the camps and sit things out."

Bill nodded.

"Why do you risk death and try escaping from those camps?" Liesl finished.

A smile spread across Bill's face. Liesl smiled back.

"Did I say something funny?" Liesl asked.

"Not really," Bill said. "It's just that I can understand where you're coming from. Most soldiers probably would. It's kind of funny, though, that nobody ever asked that question in the camps."

"Why not?"

"I guess we feel like it's our duty to escape."

"What do you mean?" Liesl scooted a little closer to Bill. Bill felt his cheeks go hot again.

"Well, no matter where a soldier is, he needs to do his part to contribute. A soldier who doesn't fight for his side all the time isn't doing his job. You understand so far?"

Liesl nodded. Her eyes were locked on Bill's; he was a little distracted by them, but they were a pleasant distraction.

"The only way you can fight as a prisoner of war is by escaping. Trying to, anyway."

"How does that help?" Liesl asked.

"The more you escape, the more men the enemy assigns to watch you. That means fewer enemies on the front lines."

"I see," Liesl said. "So it's good to be caught when you try to escape?"

"No," Bill replied. "I mean, it's okay, but it's better to escape. When you get away, the enemy has to assign a ton of men to try and catch you. It makes an even bigger dent in their forces. And then you have a chance of reaching home."

"Oh," Lisel smiled.

"Did that answer your question at all?" Bill asked.

"Yes," Liesl said. "I think I understand."

"Glad I could help," Bill said.

Liesl chuckled. She smiled at him and then turned to stare into the night. The smile remaining on her face. Bill continued to look at her. Her eyes moved toward him, only to flit back when they saw that Bill was still looking at her. Bill was suddenly overcome with an urge to take Liesl's hand, but he suppressed it.

After a few moments of silence, Liesl spoke. "Where did you learn that song you were singing?"

"Oh, that? It's just a little ditty some other soldiers taught me," Bill replied. "It's a little racy; sorry if I offended you. I know I was getting into the dirtier parts."

"It's okay. I see movies; I know what soldiers are like," Liesl spoke with a teasing grin.

Bill laughed. "You know what's sad? Those movies aren't far off."

Liesl laughed back. "You're kidding. You're not like that."

"You don't know me that well."

"That's true, but I can tell that you're a good man."

"Thank you," Bill said.

"Not at all," Liesl replied. "So, do you know any other songs?"

"A few. They're all folk songs and hymns from home, though."

"That sounds interesting."

"Not really."

"There you go with your modesty again," Liesl smiled. "Would you teach me a song?"

"Well…I guess I could, if you wanted me to."

"Yes. Please."

"Well…all right. What kind of song would you like to sing?" Bill asked as he riffled through his mental file of music.

"Any song is fine."

"Okay," Bill said, settling on a song. He took up the guitar and put his fingers to the strings. "Let me see if I remember how to play this one. It's been a while," he added.

"It's all right if it's not perfect," Liesl replied.

"Thanks," Bill said. He whistled the first bar of the song, getting himself into the right mood. Bill began strumming a country music-like tune. Bill began to sing.

"_Michael, row the boat ashore, hallelujah;_

_ Michael, row the boat ashore, hallelujah…"_

Bill continued through the song, singing the story of a family crossing Israel's Jordan River and how the journey chilled the body but not the soul. When he finished, Liesl smiled.

"That's a beautiful song," she said. "Where does it come from?"

"The slaves used to sing it in the cotton fields before the Civil War," Bill replied. "Do you know about that?"

"Yes," Liesl said. "I've read _Gone With The Wind_, and I've seen the movie, too. And we do go to to school."

Bill laughed. "Then you definitely know about it," he said.

"What a lovely song to come from such a sad time," Liesl said.

"Isn't it?" Bill said.

"Yes," Liesl said. "Can you teach it to me?"

"Sure. I'll play it again. Sing it along with me, if you can."

Bill found that he didn't have to teach Liesl; she had an ear for music, developed by the time she spent singing with her family. She had only needed to hear the song once to learn how to sing it perfectly. Liesl and Bill sang the song together in perfect harmony, their voices blending together until it sounded like one person singing.

When the song ended, Bill set the guitar down and smiled at Liesl. Liesl smiled back.

"Thanks," Liesl said.

"No problem," Bill replied.

"You know, I'm really glad you came here."

"Me, too," Bill said.

xxx

Josef Von Wildau, the Kommandant of Stalag Luft XII, sat at his desk, shuffling through the dossiers of the prisoners who had escaped that morning. An escape had the last thing Wildau needed at this point of his career in the Third Reich; he considered running a POW camp the lowest rung of a long ladder of authority he wanted to climb. Now, after this disaster, there was no way that he would ever get any higher positions. However, he hoped that the large re-capture counterattack he had put together would save him at least some face.

The office door banged open and Hans Schroder, the head of the re-capture squadron, entered the room. He raised his right hand to his Kommandant.

"Heil Hitler!" Hans said.

Wildau raised his hand in response. "Heil Hitler!" he replied. Wildau lowered his hand; Hans did the same. "What have you achieved?"

"They took off down the river. We assume they thought it would throw the dogs off the scent," Hans said. "But we outsmarted them. We ambushed them at the tributary."

"And the result?"

"We got all but one, sir."

"Dead?"

"Yes."

Wildau sighed. "Alive would have been better than dead."

"I apologize, sir."

"It's all right. I suppose one can't have everything. And the survivor?"

Hans hung his head. "I apologize, sir. He got away."

"Over the border?"

"Yes, sir. But it was close."

"'Close' doesn't help me."

"Again, sir, I apologize."

"It's all right. You did accomplish a lot."

"Thank you, sir." Hans paused for a moment. "What are we going to do about this survivor?"

Wildau picked up the dossiers. "Which man got away?"

"An American, sir. William Sefton."

Wildau flipped through the dossiers until he came to Sefton's. He pulled the sheaf of papers out of the pile and flipped through them.  
"Hmmm. An escape artist," Wildau said.

"He's done this before, sir?"

"Many times, it looks like," Wildau replied. "That's why he was sent to this 'inescapable' camp."

"What should we do now, sir?" Hans asked.

Wildau set Sefton's dossier down. "This nonsense has to stop. A man like Sefton needs to be made an example."

"What can we do now, sir?" Hans said. "Sefton's over the border into Switzerland. We can do nothing about him."

"We can't," Wildau said, "but there are others who can."

"Sir?" Hans said.

"There are certain Germans who are members Nazi Party, but have decided to give up their 'official' party status so that they can go after people like Sefton."

"Like bounty hunters?"

"Yes."

"And you feel that somebody like that would be the best solution?"

"It's the _only_ solution," Wildau said.

"Very well, sir," Hans said. "I'll take care of the arrangements for you."

"Thank you, Hans."

"Not at all, sir. Whose services shall I call upon?"

Wildau placed his finger on the dossier. "This Sefton is slippery; he's crafty. I can think of only one man who might have a chance of bringing him in."

"Who's that, sir?" Hans asked.

"He has a perfect record. He brings in every man he's assigned to."

"Alive, sir?"

"When the circumstances allow, yes. Unfortunately, the Swiss will never allow us to bring back a prisoner alive. It's unfortunate, but that's the way it has to be."

"Yes, sir. And his name?"

"Nobody knows his full name. He only goes by his first. I suppose he thinks it makes him more intimidating."

"Will that make him difficult to locate?"

"Not at all. He's famous. You mention his name often enough, you'll find somebody who will know where to find him."

"Yes, sir." Hans took a pen and a notepad from his pocket. "And his name, sir?"

"Rolfe."

* * *

**A/N: Just a few legal clarifications (and one historical one):**

**"Re-Enlistment Blues" was written by James Jones for his classic WWII novel "From Here To Eternity," which was published in 1951. I don't own the rights to the lyrics. Obviously, since the song was written in 1951, the song was never sung during WWII, but it easily sounds like it could have been written during that period, and I have a great affection for the tune, so I decided to include it here.**

**"Michael, Row The Boat Ashore" is an American folk/gospel song that originated in the Southern pre-Civil War cotton fields. As far as I can tell, nobody owns the copyright to it, but if I'm wrong, I don't own the rights to it.**

**And, of course, I own the rights to neither The Sound Of Music nor its characters.**


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